


keeping faith

by anotherplaceintime (marvelleous)



Series: snapshots [1]
Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/anotherplaceintime
Summary: “I know you cannae hear me, but I hope ye ken how much I already love ye, how I will always love ye. If we are to meet one day, another place, another time, I hope ye will forgive me.”His dreams are haunted; a little girl with bright blue eyes, auburn curls and a dimpled smile.She calls him“Da”.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Series: snapshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785904
Comments: 53
Kudos: 203





	keeping faith

Jamie is not quite sure how long he has been sitting here, staring out into the wilderness, only that the sun is now beginning to set, oranges and purples and every shade in between; the world’s largest canvas for an artist with far more imagination than he. 

All he sees is grey. 

This location has always held a special spot in his heart; somewhere he can escape to when times get rough, when his mind is clouded and he just needs to breathe, away from all the things that life wants to throw at him. The worries of the world that pile upon his shoulders until his knees give out and he can no longer run. 

He sits, head between his knees and cries, gut-wrenching sobs that pull every last breath from his lungs, leaving him gasping desperately for air. It feels as though he is suffocating, and he doesn’t know why he let it come down to this.

_Why had he just ran?_

They had been fortunate to have a few days off together, which for a couple in a fairly new relationship, meant staying holed up in their apartment the entire time, ordering takeout and desecrating every available surface within reach. He was glad for the break though, because Claire had been feeling off the entire week before; skin feverish and clammy, sore all over and falling asleep the moment she was buckled into the car after work. She had even thrown up once or twice, but reassured him that she was completely fine after he had forced her to go and see a doctor. 

He had allowed his worries to be soothed; if a medical professional deemed her healthy, then who was he to argue? Of course, he had immediately changed his mind this morning, when she bolted from their bed, running to the bathroom and heaving into the toilet. He had run after her, rubbing soothing circles into her back and then held her afterwards as she cried in his arms. 

“I think ye might need a second opinion from another doctor,” he had mumbled into her hair, but she shook her head and pulled away, tears continuing to fall. 

“Claire, please, ye have to be reasonable-”

“I’m not sick, Jamie. I’m pregnant.”

He thinks that he would have known, realised before she had, if they were not so often apart, doing photoshoots halfway across the world from one another. He keeps track of these things, knows her body as well as his own. 

He should have been happy… he was happy. All he had ever wanted was to meet the woman of his dreams and for them to build a home together, a family. He had pictured it so many times; a little boy with his hair and her eyes, causing havoc through the house, playing tag with a little girl, dark brown curls and dimples galore. From the moment he had first met her, when they had collaborated on their first photoshoot together and she had stood there, smiling, eyes clearer than the sky on a cloudless day, he had imagined the life they could have together. 

But in that moment, seeing the anguish on her face, the tears that would not let up, all he could remember was a conversation the two of them had only a year before, when she had called him up in the middle of the night and asked to come and see him. 

_“Frank and I are getting divorced,”_ she had told him, a tumbler of whisky between her hands. 

He hadn’t asked why, but she had told him anyway. 

_“He wanted children, and I…”_ she had trailed off, but he understood well enough. His heart had shattered in that moment, like the images of the children he pictured dashing through the hallways of their home. But Claire was all that mattered to him, and he would welcome anything she deigned to offer him.

He would support her through anything. 

It had been easy, to pretend that he was okay, to accept that he would never be a father, so long as he had her in his life. 

But it isn’t now, not when _their_ child is no longer a figment of his imagination. His son or daughter is _real_ , nestled within the womb of the woman he loves beyond all else. Living, breathing proof of the love that they share, half of him and half of her. 

She had left her last husband over this, and Jamie could not bear to lose her. 

He had run though, left her, sobbing on the bathroom floor, unable to process his emotions within the confines of their apartment. He had run, until every inch of him was on fire and he could no longer move, falling to the hard ground and screaming his frustrations at the world. If there was a force in the universe, controlling all things, why would they be so cruel, to give him an ounce of hope, knowing that it would be taken away. He cries, and he prays that he has the strength to sit beside her, hold her hand and watch as their child is taken away before it ever has the chance to take its first breath. 

The sky is midnight blue by the time he makes it home and he lingers at the front door for a moment, not entirely sure how to even begin the conversation that needs to be had. There are no lights on when he lets himself in, and he stumbles in the darkness, running his hand along the wall to guide himself to their bedroom. A wave of relief washes over him when he sees Claire sprawled out on top of the covers on his side of the bed, bathed in moonlight from the open window. She’s deep in sleep, still, frozen like a statue carved from marble, and he makes his way over, falling to his knees beside her. 

_She_ was enough. 

_Her love_ is enough.

But he allows himself a moment of weakness, a moment to mourn. 

Silent tears draw silvery tracks against his cheeks as he reaches a hand out, setting it against the flat plane of her belly. 

“I know you cannae hear me, but I hope ye ken how much I already love ye, how I will always love ye. If we are to meet one day, another place, another time, I hope ye will forgive me.”

His body trembles with soundless sobs, and he tears his hand away, afraid to wake her. He crawls, hands and knees, out of their bedroom, and uses his last remaining ounce of strength to pull himself up onto the couch, falling into a deep slumber. His dreams are haunted; a little girl with bright blue eyes, auburn curls and a dimpled smile. 

She calls him “ _Da”._

When he awakens the next morning, his heart breaks all over again. 

* * *

Five days.

There was a time when she could have sworn they could not go five minutes without speaking, but she’s barely seen a whisper of the man she loves in almost a week, since that day. 

She had told him that she was pregnant, carrying their child, and he had run. 

For as long as she had known Jamie, she had always been under the illusion that he was a family man. He was so good with children; she had watched him with his nieces and nephews, seen the way he lifted them upon his shoulders, giving them a birds eye view of the world, or crouched on the ground beside them, listening to their nonsensical stories, joy evident on his face. Long before they had finally crossed the threshold from friends to lovers, she had imagined him cradling _their_ child, rocking _their_ restless baby to sleep, making aeroplane noises while convincing _their_ toddler to eat their peas, tying _their_ daughter’s shoes on her first day of school. 

Not for the first time in her life, she had been wrong. 

Since that morning, he’s barely said a word to her, disappearing during the day and sleeping on the sofa at night. He hasn’t touched her; fingers casually brushing her wrist as they pass one another in the kitchen, hand on her back as he moves beside her, his body curling around hers’ as they sleep. 

She’s angry, heartbroken and in utter anguish, but she misses him, misses _her_ Jamie. 

They have a shoot together today, and already the make-up crew have commented on the fact that he hasn’t been in to see her, dropping off her morning coffee with a quick kiss like he has done ever since their relationship began. She shrugs it off, but they can sense something is wrong, and wisely choose to say nothing about it afterwards, for which she is immensely grateful. 

When she’s alone once more, she rests one hand over her belly, and wonders if he will ever forgive her for it. If there is a choice to be made, she wants to be strong enough to choose him, but the thought of killing _their_ baby, allowing someone to tear their child from her body, has her falling to her knees, reaching for the nearest wastebasket and expelling the contents of her stomach. 

She forces herself not to cry, tilting her head back and willing the tears not to fall, and reaches blindly for a bottle of water, quickly rinsing her mouth out. When she stands, she sways for a moment, steadying herself with one hand against the wall, and prays she can survive this. 

* * *

Jamie had been convinced his heart was already shattered beyond repair, but when he sees Claire come up to him as the camera crew set up the scene around them, he feels the broken fragments being ground into dust. Even their talented make-up artists had not been able to conceal the bags under her eyes, the clammy pallor of her cheeks. She’s suffering and he knows it’s his fault. He had done this to her, given her a child she did not want, and now her body is being burdened for it. 

It pains him to even think of it, but he’s determined not to hurt her any further. When they’re done for the day, he’ll tell her that he respects her choice, hold her hand throughout the process, be with her every step of the way. 

She can barely make eye contact with him, gaze fixed at a point over his shoulder, and he stands there, just watching her until they’re told to get into position. He moves to his mark, but she’s frozen. He hears the photographer calling for her, but sees the vacant expression in her eyes and rushes to her side a moment before she collapses, sinking into his arms, lifeless. 

“Claire,” he whispers, over and over, desperation building as he runs his hands over her face, feeling the icy cold skin beneath his hands. 

He hears the crew around him, shouting for someone to move her somewhere private so she can be examined by the onsite medical personnel, and he snaps. 

“No!”

The words are a roar, echoing through the room, drawing the attention of all within the vicinity. 

“Call an ambulance...” he says, his voice breaking with each word. “Please.”

There’s a flurry of activity around them; someone comes in and suggests they remove the gown she’s modelling and he wants to rage at them for thinking of such things when Claire is lying there unconscious, but he sees reason when they tell him it will help her breathe more easily. Privacy screens are set up around them, and they quickly strip her down and wrap her in a robe. 

He catches a glimpse of her underwear before he pulls the robe around her; it’s a small relief to him to see the fabric is white and unblemished, no horrific bloodstains like the ones he had seen on television.

Claire doesn’t stir and he refuses to leave her side, even when a member of the first aid team arrives to give her a preliminary examination. They ask him questions; when was her last meal, had she been drinking, did she take any illicit substances, but he cannot answer, grasping her frozen hand in his and letting a small whimper escape his lips when he hears the sirens. 

He’s pretty sure that the two paramedics recognise him when they arrive, because their eyes widen for a moment before they get to work, and they wordlessly allow him to hop into the back of the ambulance with them, still clutching Claire’s hand in a death grip. 

“Is there anything in her medical history that we should know about?” the younger of the two ask him as they get her hooked up to an IV. 

He nods, finally allowing the tears he had been holding back before to fall, not wanting to incite even more questions from the cast and crew. They didn’t need to know about their situation; he could already see the looks of pity upon their faces, hear the whispers behind his back if they were to find out the truth. 

“She’s pregnant,” he whispers, bringing her hand up to his face and pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

To their credit, both paramedics hide their reactions well, noting down the _patient’s condition_ and then not giving him any judgement when he answers _“I don’t know”,_ to the rest of their questions. 

Jamie has three Claire-related memories, distinct recollections, moments where he felt as though the world would end. 

_One._

Some of the models from their agency had been out celebrating some milestone or achievement, the exact nature of which he cannot remember, but they never needed an excuse to get sloshed together. Claire had not come alone, introducing them all to her _boyfriend_ , the university professor, and Jamie had marched straight to the bar and ordered a double shot of whisky.

_Two._

She had called him up, out of the blue, asked if they could meet up and that she had news she wanted to share with him. Hearing the elation in her voice had warmed his heart, but when she walked into the coffee shop, his gaze had immediately fallen to the rock on the ring finger of her left hand and he had nowhere to flee. He pretended to be happy for her, but beneath the table his hands had been clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white and there were shallow wounds on his palms from where his nails had broken skin.

_Three._

She had wanted him there, at the wedding, in London, which had probably been the cruellest thing she had ever asked of him. He said yes and was forced to watch as the woman he loved made vows to another man. He acted that day, delivering a performance that he thinks could have launched a career in the film industry. Her Uncle Lamb had spoken to him, hand on his elbow, and expressed an appreciation for him flying in to support Claire, and in a moment of weakness, he had said _“I would do anything for her”._

But no, he had not known true pain and fear until now, stuck in a limbo, helplessly watching and waiting. 

_Useless._

* * *

It’s the smell that hits her first. 

Bleach and disinfectant and entirely unnatural. 

She’s exhausted, boneless, and even opening her eyes feels like a chore, the lids so heavy. 

Memory returns to her in fragments, little pieces moving around within her mind, rearranging into chronological order. They had been on location for a shoot, and she had collapsed. 

Oh god. 

She’s filled with a rush of adrenaline, forcing her eyes open, momentarily blinded by the bright white lights. She tries and moves her hands to her belly, but finds that her left is being held in a vice-like grip. Her right gingerly cradles her middle as she turns her head on the pillow, and she sees Jamie, tears in his eyes as he watches her. 

“Is the baby…” she trails off for a moment, letting out a sob. “Is our baby okay?” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, reaching out with his left hand, brushing a stay curl away from her face, fingers tracing the outline of her body, before coming to a rest above hers. 

“Yes.” 

She begins crying in earnest then, body wracked with sobs of relief, momentarily forgetting all her other worries. _Their_ child was safe, sleeping within her, and she was so grateful. Through her blurred vision she sees Jamie shift closer, and then he’s pulling her into his arms, peppering kisses to the crown of her head and whispering almost incoherent expressions of his love for her. 

When she’s calmed down enough to form complete sentences once more, she presses her face against the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him, before withdrawing.

“Jamie… I know we haven’t discussed this, and that we’ve only been together a few months, that it’s probably not what you had planned out for-”

She’s interrupted by the sound he makes, a bastardisation of a laugh and sob. 

“I have _dreamed_ of us, raising a family together, since the moment I first met ye,” he tells her, staring into her eyes, and she sees the truth in his words. The tears begin anew, and she’s never cried this much in her life, but at least she can blame it on the hormones now. She pulls him closer and kisses him, channeling every ounce of love in her heart to him. 

“I just thought,” he says between kisses, murmurs the words against her lips. “Ye told me before… about Frank… I assumed…”

She gently sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, brushing her tongue over the marks before pulling away. It’s a strange term to describe what she’s doing, because she’s still cradled in his arms, their foreheads pressed together and the tip of her nose brushing his. 

“I didn’t want a family with him because I could only ever imagine _our_ children.”

She whispers her confession and feels the grin on his lips as he kisses her, firmly. 

“I love you,” he tells her, and she whispers it back, laughing as he pulls down the sheets around her body and presses a kiss to her belly. 

* * *

Jamie begins baby proofing the apartment the day she is released from hospital, with strict instructions from the doctor to keep up her food and fluid intake and to stay off her feet for at least the next week. He takes the doctor’s words to heart and carries her bridal style from the car, all the way up in the lift and through their apartment, setting her down in bed. 

Claire reads, thumbing through the pages of well worn novels as he bumbles around, preparing her meals and fetching whatever tickles her fancy, all without complaint. She grumbles but sits still and allows him to photograph her, day after day, images tracking the way her body changes; she’s softer now than she was before. He gives her massages and lies back without complaint as she straddles his face, seeking pleasure for herself and then collapsing on the sheets beside him once he’s brought her over the edge four times in an hour. 

In the evenings, she cards her fingers through his hair as he curls around her middle, one hand resting upon her breast, above her beating heart, whispering words of love for their unborn child. 

* * *

There are no more scares, and thank fuck for that. 

Precisely seven months after she found out about the pregnancy, their daughter is brought into the world, kicking and screaming, simultaneously the ugliest and most beautiful sight they’ve ever seen. Jamie cuts the cord with shaking hands and then their little miracle is being whisked off, weighed and cleaned. 

They name her Faith, to remind themselves of all the things they hold dear in life, and to never let anything come between them again. 

When little Faith Ellen Fraser is finally returned to her parents, she’s swaddled in a baby blanket with a little pink hat covering her head. Claire sets their daughter to her breast, wrinkling her nose when the rosebud lips finally latch on, smiling at Jamie who is watching them with awe in his eyes and tears streaming down his face. 

“I didn’t think I could ever be this happy,” he tells her, reaching a hand out to stroke their daughter’s chubby cheek. 

They sit together in relative silence, and picture what their life will be like from this day forward. 

All they see is _joy._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this :) I would love to hear what you think!


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